This scene takes place in mid-March.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue. And I was never a Girl Scout/Girl Guide.
First trip.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
She sighed dramatically, draping herself across his arm. "C'mon, Sam, where are we going?"
"It's a surprise," Sam replied, unshaken by Andy's attempts to weasel information from him. Glancing at her briefly from the corner of his eye, he smiled and nudged her cheek with his shoulder. "Buck up, copper."
It was a little infuriating just how unflappable he could be when driving.
Edging back toward her own seat, Andy watched Sam's hands return to grip the steering wheel. For the length of the trip, he had moved sparingly, alternately pausing to take a sip of coffee or consult the road map stuffed in the center console. The focus in his eyes was not lost on her; he had a plan, and for a man that endorsed the spontaneous lifestyle, he certainly seemed intent on very specific timing and locale.
"But I like cold, hard facts, not surprises," Andy whined. Lightly elbowing Sam, she pointed at the Academy hoodie she was wearing. "Hello, have we met? I'm a police officer."
"Yeah, must have slipped my mind." He fixed her with a maddening grin. "Hey, uh, what's that line?" he asked, dragging his eyes away from the road. "What goes around…?"
"Shut up," she said, wrinkling her nose. "If you're going to be evasive, I'm gonna take a nap." Propping her feet up on the dashboard, she swept an arm underneath her seat, blindly searching for a blanket. "And anyway, you love my surprises."
"Well, let's hope you accept yours with the same enthusiasm."
"Hmm," Andy mumbled. Locating the fleece blanket, she wrapped it around her shoulders before snuggling against the passenger side window. "As long it doesn't involve guys in masks. Or Celine Dion music videos. Or highly communicable diseases."
"What?" she said defensively, returning his dubious look. "Those things happen to freak me out, ok?"
He shook his head, bemused. "Go to sleep, crazy. I'll wake you when we get there."
Two hours and several disjointed dreams later, Andy awoke, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Where are we?"
Sam cut the engine, the loud rumble of the truck ceding to the quiet darkness that enveloped them. "We, Andy, have reached our destination." Gesturing to a sign on the opposite end of the parking lot, he smiled widely.
Blinking groggily, Andy made out the words "Campground." Rubbing her eyes, she looked at the sign again. No, still "Campground." Fixing him with an incredulous look, she quickly scanned the perimeter of the area. "Are you joking?"
"I usually contain my jokes to classic word puns, so, no. I'm not joking." He poked her gently in the ribs. "We're here for the weekend… It just took us a little longer to find the spot than I wanted."
His comment seemed to jolt her from her state of suspended disbelief. Turning to him, she said in a mock-stern voice, "That's why we should have a GPS."
He shrugged, untroubled. "I like maps."
Shaking her head, her attention returned to their present location. "But wait. Wait. I mean, why are we here?"
"I can think of three good reasons," he said, holding up three fingers.
She humored him, motioning for him to continue.
"One - The weather is unseasonably warm."
"Okay, it has been warm for March, but still."
"Two - You like this kind of stuff, and I could stand to broaden my horizons."
"Since when are you interested in broadening your horizons?"
He ignored her, sliding out of his seat and circling the front of the cab to open her door. "Three," He popped the door and leaned in, tugging at the lapels of her coat to draw her closer. "It's your birthday. And I thought you'd like it."
She smiled reluctantly. "Well, technically it isn't my birthday until next week."
"Well, we're just going to have to have extended celebrations, huh?" he said, smirking. "C'mon, it'll be fun… I think."
"Tommy had some of your old camping gear in storage. And Ollie lent me a tent. Apparently I'm the only guy that, uh, doesn't have a deed to some antiquated, woodland area: cabin, lake, or the like." He shot her a wry grin, cocking an eyebrow. "Who knew?"
"Um, everyone? Your distaste for the great outdoors is pretty common knowledge."
He shrugged. "What can I say? I like traffic. And loud noise. And haze. That's my nature."
"Yeah, nothing says beauty of nature quite like sirens and smog," she deadpanned.
He slipped an arm around her shoulders. "To each his own, McNally."
"So, a campground?" she said, crossing her arms across her chest and staring at the vast expanse of woods.
"Yep," he drawled. "It's not seasoned veteran-style camping, but seeing as I have zero experience in this field, I thought it would be best to be in walking distance of amenities. A landline. Access to emergency transport vehicles - You know, the works."
She fought valiantly to keep the grin off her face.
"Anyway, I have to go check in and get directions to our assigned space. I'm pretty sure we can drive to the plot, but if not, we might have to do some light hiking."
Tying her hair in a knot at the crown of her head, Andy raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "Well, that kind of hiking is preferable to our last bout, don't you think?"
"Uh, yeah." He rolled his eyes. "We're starting fresh, okay? No escaped convicts, no throat injuries, no beavers in handcuffs?"
"That sounds perfect," she assured him. Smiling brightly, she hopped over to the truck to rummage through their overnight bags. "You're not so bad at this boyfriend stuff, you know that?"
"I'm a man of many talents."
"Mmm, yes. Yes, you are."
Forty minutes later, Sam was struggling amidst a pile of nylon, canvas, and aluminum. "According to Ollie, this tent is idiot-proof."
Running a hand through his hair, he looked at Andy. "If he can do it, it can't be that hard, right?"
She shot him a sympathetic smile. "Do you need any help?"
Shaking his head, he reached into his duffel and pulled out a bag of marshmallows. Tossing it in her direction, he hit her in the chest with a loud thwack. "I won't deny you your sugar rush, ya junkie."
Grabbing the bag eagerly, she tore a hole in the top and fished one out, stuffing it in her mouth.
"Mmm," she hummed contentedly. "It's like you're my fairy godmother."
He refrained from commenting, settling for a half-cocked eyebrow instead.
"Wffft?" she questioned, her mouth full of the fluffy mallow. Swallowing hard, she rolled her eyes and added, "But less bippity-boppity and more sex appeal, ok? Happy?"
"About being compared to an elderly, female, fairytale character? Nope, not really."
"It was a thank you, you dope." She flashed a row of pearly whites and reached for another marshmallow. "Thank you," she repeated innocently.
"Huh," Sam responded noncommittally.
Sighing again, he rubbed the back of his neck. "How would you feel about sleeping in the bed of my truck? I mean, if this–" he gestured to the pile of material that was decidedly un-tentlike, "Doesn't happen?"
"Whatever we have to do is fine," Andy said. "Although, you know, maybe I could give you a hand?"
She extended a marshmallow in his direction. "Peace offering?" she asked, trying to coax a smile out of him. "Let me help. Please."
He studied her for a long moment before throwing his hands in the air and conceding defeat. "Fine." His mouth twitched slightly, and he exhaled. "That's fine. Thank you."
Slipping behind him, Andy rested her chin on his shoulder and observed the mess he had made. "It's ok, Sam. You have massive amounts of street cred. You don't need nature cred, too."
First it had been the tent. Then it was the arrangement of their gear. Then, as the sun set, it was building a fire in the pit. She had to give him credit, he was persistent. Failing miserably, yes, but persistent.
She watched him from the corner of the campsite, a slight smile tugging at her lips as he fumbled with the matches. Letting out a string of curses, he threw a small log in defeat before staring at it angrily, as if he expected the log would crack first. Muttering under his breath, he crouched on the ground and picked up the piece of wood again.
The lengths to which this man would go to put a smile on her face. It was incredible, really.
And it wasn't just here at the campsite.
There were days when she was tired or grumpy or PMSing, and he was a beacon of good humor and well-maintained silence. He wouldn't try to talk her out of her crabby mood; he'd just sprawl on the couch and put on a crappy TV show that he knew she loved. Pulling her toward his lap, he would run a hand through her hair, softly and gently, until her eyes became heavy and her breath evened out.
He wasn't a "just because" flowers kind of guy, but he always had flowers for the important occasions. Other days, he'd surprise her with sugary cereal or an extra cup of coffee or a bag of marshmallows, and honestly, she thought she liked that better. He didn't change who he was because of her, but he indulged her crazy sugar and caffeine whims, and he usually made her laugh in the process.
His uniform – outside of his uniform– was jeans and a t-shirt, but he had already proven to her that he would dress up, if it was really important to her. He let her wander the house in his sweatpants, rolled three times at the waist, and he didn't complain when she permanently hijacked his favorite Rush t-shirt. He always stepped out of the shower first to offer a steadying arm, he introduced her to family and friends, and he may not have been the most eloquent apologizer, but he was the sincerest. She saw the lengths to which he had gone to rectify sources of tension.
He sat with her when she cried about a victim or worried about her dad, and somehow, he could anticipate the exact moment when Andy would go from frustrated and angry to sad and disillusioned. It was at that moment that he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her to his chest. He didn't try to placate with words – "It's part of life" or "It's gonna be ok" or "I know" – he simply held her until his t-shirt was stained with tears and the shaking had subsided, and then he would kiss her temple and sit with her for a while longer.
He joked often, attempting to make her giggle or bite her lip in ill-concealed humor. On days when they were on-shift together, she would elbow him in the ribs or shake her head in amusement, but he would persist, until he got the full McNally laugh. He teased, and he taunted, and he made her choke on her food on more than one occasion, but he always managed to get the laugh. He wasn't above throwing his arms in a mock-victory salute afterward.
He talked her down when she was nervous, alternately encouraged and challenged her, and he made her want to be a better police officer. A better girlfriend. A better person, really, and maybe someday…
Months ago, she had used the "good candy" metaphor. In typical Swarek/McNally fashion, their conversation was a lot more loaded than it appeared on the surface. But when she had left that voicemail before he went under, she was sure: She wanted the good candy.
After the Brennan ordeal and subsequent suspension, it was easy to relish the good candy. It was another thing to convey to the good candy how much its presence meant. That, actually, you wanted the good candy to stick around forever. Because, really the good candy should have a strong shelf life, and you prayed that it would never be discontinued or recalled or have traces of allergens that could injure you. Life without the good candy would be empty.
She would be empty.
He made her happy. Happier than she had ever been in twenty-nine years of life.
And now he was stupidly messing with a campfire, likely handling logs that were too green or too wet, because he thought it would mean something to her.
Sam hated nature. Nature was unpredictable, an alien environment that didn't abide by the same set of laws he regularly enforced. He hated the foreign aura; he hated to cede some semblance of control or familiarity. And yet here he was, a city boy in the woods, because it was her birthday.
He was here. For her.
He was always here for her.
And she –
She was finally at peace with the words that for months had been written on her heart.
"I love you."
He stilled by the fire, and the surrounding woods seemed to follow suit. Not a chirp could be heard. No faint breeze rustling the leaves, not a single blade of glass disturbed by the wind. He straightened, his back toward her, and she saw the wood fall to the ground with an unassuming thud as his fist slowly unfurled.
"I love you," she repeated, her voice barely a whisper but echoing in the stillness.
She heard the blood rushing in her ears; she felt the dull thudding of her heart, pounding a staccato rhythm against her rib cage. Could Sam hear it? It was so quiet.
She approached him slowly, crossing the breadth of space with level and careful steps. He didn't turn.
She buried her face in his back, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, her hands gingerly wrapping around his waist and coming to rest on his abdomen.
He placed a rough palm over her hands, caressing her knuckles once, before disengaging himself and turning on his heel.
One arm slid across her back, the other, behind her thigh, and he lifted her, settling her around his waist. Pulling her body flush against him, he coaxed her mouth open with his lips.
And she felt it – everything that he hadn't said. It was all poured into that kiss. Desperation and hope and terror and joy, utter joy. Her body began to tremble with the urgency and gravity of his mouth on hers: closer, harder, deeper.
When he finally paused to take a breath, his forehead came to rest against hers. Coaching her heartbeat back to a normal rhythm, she slid down his body, shaky legs coming to rest on the ground.
When she dared to look at his face, his eyes were still closed.
He pulled back, rubbing his thumb over her cheek, and blinked once, twice. His eyes were dark, and his face, a mirror of a thousand emotions, disbelief and incredulity and warmth and delight. He couldn't quite believe she had said it, and yet he wanted to believe it so badly, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.
His voice was deep, a timbre she had never heard before – not when he was upset, or concerned, or even when he woke up in the morning.
"McNally…" He swallowed hard. "Andy," he amended, his voice low and shaky.
"You've trusted me with your life, right? That's what partners do. And that has never been a job I've taken lightly."
Fingering a strand of her hair, he stared at it for a measure before turning his gaze to her eyes. "All I want…" He paused, clearing his throat. "All I have wanted… is for you to trust me with your heart."
She sobered at his expression, tugging him closer and winding her arms around his neck.
"God, I love you," he breathed. "I love you so much."
Dipping his head, he kissed her again. She urged him closer, giggling into his mouth as the sound of a tiny growl resonated in her ears.
"Say it again," he rasped against her throat, skimming his fingers over her collarbone before burying his fingers in her hair.
"I love you," she whispered.
And he laughed, he actually laughed – one deep, throaty chuckle – before claiming her lips again, working his way up the side of her face.
This was love.
A low rumble of thunder shook them from their reverie.
Andy pulled back abruptly. "Is it going to rain?"
He ignored her question, dragging her in the direction of their tent, peppering her neck and jaw with whiskery kisses.
"Oh god, this is like every bad cliché, ever. A declaration of feelings, and then a rainstorm?"
"Mm, McNally," he murmured, close to her ear. "Not now. I'm working over here."
A silly grin overtook her face. If she was honest with herself, her cheeks felt like they might just crack with the pressure of her smile. "Yeah, I guess it's less nauseating when it's happening to you."
He stopped abruptly. "Do they make double sleeping bags?"
Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Um, yeah, I think so. I mean, I've seen them in stores."
He sighed, shaking his head in annoyance. "We should have bought one for this trip." Shrugging, he added, "Guess we're squeezing into yours, then."
She laughed, pushing him away with her free hand. "You're nuts."
He caught her palm, wrapping his fingers around hers. "No, you're nuts if you think I'm gonna let you say something like that and sleep alone afterward." He flicked his wrist, and she all but stumbled into his chest. "Cold be damned."
"You might be singing a different tune in the middle of night."
He fixed her with a cocky grin. "I'll manage."
Hours later, they sat around the campfire, a healthy blaze of warmth and light, due in large part to Andy's prowess with kindling and a lighter.
"I really love your laugh, did you know that?" she murmured, tracing Sam's jaw with her fingers. "Not that short, loaded bark of laughter that follows a rookie mistake in the field. Your 'happy' laugh. Your eyes get crinkly. And I can see all your teeth, and these little guys," she said, tracing the dimple in his right cheek, "go crazy."
Running her hands down the length of his arms, she hugged him to her chest. "I like to see you like that. Like this."
Resting her head on his shoulder, she glanced up at the stars. "Hey, Sam? This is nice," she murmured. "Really nice. Thank you."
Smiling down at her, Sam opened his mouth and the words tumbled out. "I think I love the woods."
"Just the woods?" she asked innocently.
He shook his head in amusement. "Shut up."
She arched an eyebrow saucily. "Is that any way to talk to the woman for whom you've just professed feelings?"
He grinned. "Next time we'll spring for the real deal, huh? No campgrounds. Just you, me, nature, and maybe some unseasonable warmth," he finished, a devilish twinkle in his eye.
"Next time? Sounds like you're getting ahead of yourself there, Swarek," she teased. "You haven't survived the weekend yet."
"I like the way it's going so far. And I love the company," he clarified.
"Is that right?"
"Yeah," he responded, giving her a brief squeeze. "That's right."
Cradling her to his chest, he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Happy birthday, Andy."
Andy awoke the next morning feeling surprisingly refreshed. Whether it was the clear skies, the fresh air, or the words of the man lying next to her – Well, regardless, she was happy.
Sam loved her. And she loved him.
A muffled groan interrupted her daydreaming and she burrowed closer to the lump of blankets that concealed the man underneath.
His face was tired and drawn as he peeked out from under his sleeping bag. "I think I spoke too soon."
She froze immediately and her eyes snapped to his, bewildered.
"No, Andy," he half-laughed, half-groaned. "Too soon about the woods. Expressing any particular affinity or affection for this nature crap. I feel like I've been bulldozed by a freight train. Or whatever the 'natural equivalent' of that is."
She bit back a smile, mustering a look of sympathy instead.
"Hey," he continued, "I've endured my fair share of injuries on the job, but seriously, I didn't know bones could feel this way."
He shifted, trying to work out a crick in his neck.
"I think I may have permanently injured my back."
"Really? Worse than that time we…"
"Yeah."
"Wow."
He flopped back underneath the blankets, grunting about the myth of fresh air. "Hotel. Motel. Bed and Breakfast by the sea, for all I care. Next time, we get a bed."
When Sam stumbled out of the tent twenty minutes later, Andy already had started to assemble breakfast. Noting his haggard appearance, she walked to the edge of the campsite and guided Sam to a chair by the fire pit. "Feeling any better, champ?"
"Not really," he mumbled into the cup of coffee Andy had thrust in his hand.
"Well, luckily you have an attentive girlfriend to take care of you," she said brightly. "A lovely lover who you love."
He groaned. "Please never say that again."
"What, you didn't mean it?" she asked innocently, feigning wide-eyed disbelief.
"Funny, McNally." He hesitated, his dark eyes growing serious. Pulling her toward him, he gestured to his lap, and she sat down.
"I, uh – You know, it may have taken a while to vocalize it, but…" He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "That, uh, doesn't make it any less real. It doesn't mean that those feelings weren't there… you know… before."
She considered making light of the situation – a teasing jab, an offhand remark, perhaps an "Oh, so you've felt this way for a while, Officer Swarek?"
She couldn't.
She reached for his hands, lacing her fingers through his. "I know."
"Despite my protests and grumbles, it was nice having a night away, just the two of us," he said, tracing a pattern on the back of her hand. Gazing at her steadily, he repeated the words from the night before.
"I love you, Andy."
She smiled, carefully extracting her hand from his before moving to sit in front of him. "The feeling is mutual, copper."
Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on his knees and folded her hands under her chin. "So…" she began, "I have a list of… demands, I guess you could say."
He chuckled lowly. "That sounds like the Andy McNally I know."
"Now that we've said those three magic words," she gave him another disarming smile, bright and infectious, "We have to establish ground rules for when we repeat these sentiments. Here are my suggestions."
"Right before bed. When we wake up in the morning. When I burn something in the kitchen. When you prove useful in some handyman capacity. When we go for walks. When you let me drive. Poker Nights. Girls' Nights. Nights we sit around in sweatpants and watch movies. Before shift. After shift. Future camping trips and outdoor endeavors. At the mall. In the shower. On morning runs. At fancy restaurants and podunk diners. On federal holidays, birthdays, and on days you wear grey t-shirts. And this clause is open-ended, so really, we can tack on as many addendums in the future as we want."
"That's a lot of places," he drawled, a slow smile spreading across his face.
She matched his grin, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Well, I love you a lot of different ways."
Surprise! First trip was actually their first "I love you."
The camping motif is popular, I know, but I couldn't resist. It's how I've had their first "I love you" planned from the get-go.
Thank you, as always, for reading.